


To Take Him Under Your Protection

by AkiRah



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Casterly Rock, Cloaks and symbolism, F/M, FACT, Not at all how the books go, Podrick's in it for a minute, Short One Shot, but fuck it, if the ship name for Brienne/Jaime isn't "Sapphire Lion" it should be, in fact it is now, things I'm posting because Etienne told me to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 01:09:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4415234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiRah/pseuds/AkiRah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne "The Beauty" of Tarth is summoned to Casterly Rock to bear witness to the engagement of one sulking, childish, Jaime Lannister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Take Him Under Your Protection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Etienne_Bessette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etienne_Bessette/gifts).



“Have you seen The Rock before, M’lady?”

Brienne turned to look at the speaker, a young squire assigned to greet her at the gate, and shook her head. “Ser,” she corrected, more tersely than required. “Not ‘m’lady’. And no, I’ve never seen Casterly Rock before.” Her hands tugged the reins to steady her mare.

Winter had come to Casterly Rock, and it had brought Brienne with it. The summons was unexpected. Since their farewell at the capital, Brienne hadn’t expected to see Jaime again, much less at his request.

If it could be considered of request. He wrote her like an impatient child, practically _demanding_ that she ride down to visit.

“I trust you’re not disappointed, my-- _ser_.”

She shook her head. She was not disappointed, but neither was she impressed. Casterly Rock was stately, but barren. It was not lovely the way Tarth was and it wasn’t captivating in the way King’s Landing was.

Even without his sister as the cause, Brienne could see why Jaime had been in no hurry to return.

“I’ll escort you to you--”

“--to Jaime Lannister,” Brienne interrupted. “I’d like to get the mystery over with.”

“Surely a bath fir--”

She silenced the boy with a look and dismounted her horse, wide cloak falling to the ground beside her to brush the fresh-fallen snow with a lover’s tenderness. It was the most graceful part of the whole operation. Brienne of Tarth was neither beautiful, nor graceful, but she never felt the need to be either. She passed the reins to Podrick.

“Ser,” Pod said as a farewell before leading the horses to the stable. She’d almost thought not to bring him. Not after Tyrion’s disappearance and Tywin’s death, but Podrick would not be left. He had sworn himself to her and with her he would stay.

His fealty was catching and she was glad to have him with her.

Brienne’s armor jingled and shone even through the dirt that had caked onto her during the ride.

 

She was shown into the great hall. Inside, The Rock was nearly as lovely as the Red Keep and somehow more majestic. Carved from the very cliff itself, the Lannister’s home felt like its children; proud, beautiful, unyielding and somehow like it was trying too hard to be what everyone described it as. Brienne was both taken by it, and annoyed by that fact.

 

She was informed that Lord Lannister was in the garden. A melancholy had taken hold of him since his return from King’s Landing and being in the garden seemed to help. Brienne huffed in moderate, well meaning annoyance. She shrugged aside the honor guard and made her way through the halls and corridors until she came to what the Lannister’s called a garden. A cold, unfeeling place, probably beautiful in the summers but clearly maintained simply for appearances. There was no love here for green growing things and gentleness. Brienne did not have it in her to be surprised.

 

Standing near the frozen over fountain was Jaime. He seemed smaller here. Smaller even than the crying man in the bath.

_Jaime, my name is Jaime._

She cleared her throat and Jaime turned. He had let the beard grow out again. His eyes were dark.

“You’re late.”

“And you’re sulking,” Brienne observed. “My lord.”

“I’m to be married,” Lord Lannister groaned. “My late father’s last wish. I’ve left the Kingsguard and everything I loved in King’s Landing.”

Brienne said nothing, her face carefully blank. That certainly explained why he was sulking, but not why she had been asked here. He was childish, selfish, stubborn and occasionally oblivious, but she often stopped short of describing him as _cruel_. Though if he’s summoned her of all people half-way across Westeros to tell her about his marriage, she might have to amend that.

“You’re not going to ask about my intended?” Jaime looked half-reproachful.

“No, Ser.”

“You didn’t even wash up.”

“No, Ser. I was worried it was urgent.”

“You were worried about me?” A smile, faint and wilting, slid onto Jaime’s face and she could remember why he was considered to be so handsome. So charming. So damned likable. It was exactly why she hadn’t liked him in the first place. But he grew on her. Even in his petulant moments, of which there were more than he would admit and less than she would claim.

Brienne smiled and nodded once, the closest to a concession she would give. She wasn’t one to deny how she felt, she loved honestly and openly, but with Jaime it was different. He gave the impression of being a married man despite a life with the kingsguard. She had heard the rumors, even believed them to an extent, but they mattered less than she felt they should have. He was taken with another, and Brienne would love him quietly.

Quietly, distantly, faithfully. The way knight errants were supposed to love beautiful maidens imprisoned in high towers. She supposed, looking around at the high walls that enclosed the garden, the metaphor was apt.

She waited patiently for an explanation. Jaime seemed content to stare at the bare branches of a tree.

She cleared her throat.

He looked at her.

She sighed. “Is that why I was asked here? To bear witness to your engagement?”

“Yes,” Jaime said. “I’m lucky enough to get to choose my particular chain.”

“You’re very fortunate,” Brienne rolled her eyes. Here she had been --worried-- and Jaime wasn’t even sorry for the inconvenience. Too wrapped up in his own poetic angst. Staring at dead pieces of wood in the snow. Typical.

Brienne stepped over to him as the wind picked up. Jaime shivered and Brienne, without thinking, pulled her cloak off and wrapped it around him, letting her hands linger on his shoulders just a moment longer than she needed.

_I only held him that once._ She had said to Catelyn Stark about Renly. And she’d only held, only would hold, Jaime that once in the bath when he wept. And the bards sang of other maidens unlucky in love. Maidens who were beautiful and wilting and nothing like Brienne “The Beauty” of Tarth.

Jaime’s hand came up to the edge of the cloak, the blue wool as bright as a summer sky. He curled it tighter around himself.

“What’s her name,” Brienne relented, knowing that he wouldn’t be satisfied until she asked. “Your intended?”

He stared at her, confused and then amused and then he was laughing at her. Bent near double with his hand in her cloak and his voice rich despite the way he laughed _at_ her. Brienne scowled. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“It’s _you_ , Brienne,” he wiped a mirthful tear away, “it couldn’t be anyone else.”

Brienne’s face arranged to one of careful confusion and vague irritation at the feeling that she was being mocked.

“Ser,” she said carefully. “You’re not in love with me.”

“Well no,” Jaime shifted under her cloak. “But that’s, rather less important than either of us want it to be, isn’t it?” He looked up at her and the smile that broke over his features was both sweet and sincere. “But I _do_ love you, and that seems more important than the rest. Anyway, I can’t imagine marrying anyone else.” He frowned.

“Even the woman you love?”

“ _Especially_ her,” Jaime winced a little. “She’d be miserable as a wife. On top of the other obvious complications. It’d be . . . disastrous.”  

“I haven’t been told of any engagement.”

“No, I wanted to actually ask you.”

“Which you didn’t.”

“Yes, sorry, got a bit carried away. Will you marry me, Brienne of Tarth? Become Brienne of Casterly Rock?”

Brienne exhaled in defeat. Her father would agree to any match at this point, and die of delighted shock that she would marry a Lannister. She closed her eyes and nodded.

 

 


End file.
